


Down to Old Maui

by Gigi_Sinclair



Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Consensual Infidelity, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Married Thomas Jopson, Period Typical Attitudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-23 15:09:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23413453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gigi_Sinclair/pseuds/Gigi_Sinclair
Summary: Thomas and Edward get their Hawaiian holiday, and decide that's not quite enough.
Relationships: Thomas Jopson & Elisabeth Jopson, Thomas Jopson/Lt Edward Little
Comments: 10
Kudos: 46
Collections: The Terror Bingo (2019)





	Down to Old Maui

**Author's Note:**

> For The Terror Bingo square "The Sandwich Islands." Book canon Thomas Jopson, and we know what that means.

_We're homeward bound from the Arctic ground, rolling down to old Maui._ "Rolling Down to Old Maui", Stan Rogers

***

A warm South Pacific breeze means they can smell the Sandwich Islands before they can see them. 

The scent is floral, sweet and almost cloying. It sends a murmur through the men, which becomes a chorus of whoops and cheers as the lush, volcano-strewn islands slide onto the horizon. 

“All right!” Edward snaps. “Back to work, or it's no shore leave for any of you.” 

“Now, now, Lieutenant.” Mr. Blanky chews his pipe. “You can't blame them for being all excited-like, not after what we've been through.” 

“I do not blame them.” Edward's reply is frosty. He has great respect for the ice master. Blanky is largely responsible, Edward knows, for finding the Passage and escaping the north, but since they left that misery, and the bulk of Blanky's duties, behind them, the man has become increasingly lax. “There is still work to be done.” 

“Of course,” Blanky agrees. “And I would not presume to tell you how to do it.” His cheerful tone does nothing but put Edward further on edge. Edward grunts a reply and stalks away before he can say something he regrets. 

Edward's foul humour persists the rest of the day. When he arrives in the wardroom for dinner, he is additionally irritated, but not surprised, to see the captain is once again conspicuous by his absence. 

Hodgson and Irving are already there, along with Blanky, and Jopson, of course. Edward wants to ask him if Captain Crozier will be joining them, but he will not do so in front of the others. 

“The most beautiful women in the world,” Blanky is saying, as Edward takes his seat. The windows are open, so the room is not stifling. “That's what they've got in Maui. Ah, to be young and unfettered in a place like that.” He gives a wistful sigh. “Mark my words, Irving, Little, a couple of days with those island girls, and you'll forget all the woes of a year in the ice. It's said they know tricks to make the most seasoned sailor blush.” Irving looks horrified at the very prospect. Edward can't say he disagrees. “Of course, that's nothing to married men like me and George. I envy you lads, free to dip your wicks in paradise.” 

“And of course, you, Jopson,” Hodgson adds, as Jopson fills his glass. 

“I am married myself, sir,” he says, as calm and even as the sea outside. He raises the bottle without spilling a drop and approaches Edward. 

“Is that right?” Hodgson sounds intrigued. “I had no idea. What's she like, then?” 

Edward clenches his teeth. He knows of Jopson's wife. Jopson told him months ago, although not before the two of them had sported several times in the orlop, the captain's pantry, and Edward's berth. She is a childhood friend of Jopson's. Elisabeth. When she found herself expecting a married man's child, Jopson, ever the honourable man, married her in turn purely to prevent the lady's disgrace. There is no love between the two of them other than fond friendship. 

That is the story Jopson gave him, at any rate. Whether it is the truth, Edward cannot say. He prefers to believe it than to think of himself as the type of man who would fuck a subordinate with a devoted and faithful wife at home, or that Jopson is the type of man who would fuck a superior in that situation. 

“Have you been to Maui before?” Edward asks George, more to change the subject than because he cares to know the answer. 

“No, no. But, like Mr. Blanky, I've heard tales.” All talk of wives forgotten, Hodgson happily embarks on some story of succulent roast pig cooked in a pit in the sand. Edward can feel Jopson's gaze upon him as Hodgson rambles. He doesn't look up. 

Edward did not, of course, come aboard _Terror_ with the expectation of having relations with anyone. He had dallied with men before, but always ashore. These affairs, if one could term them such, were of extremely short duration, usually no more than a single night, and purely physical in nature. Edward felt no qualms about lying with men, but emotion, affection, love were all reserved for women. Or so he believed.

From the moment they met, the existence of Thomas Jopson forced Edward to reexamine everything he thought he knew about the world, and about himself. Jopson is handsome. Edward has known handsome men before. Jopson is extraordinarily devoted to his duty. Again, he is not unique in this. There is something else about him, something Edward has still not been able to quantify, which forced Edward's thoughts to linger on the man, that gave him dreams and fantasies not only of the usual erotic nature, but of a more romantic one. A man not normally prone to such fancies, Edward found himself longing to woo Jopson the way he was meant to want to woo women, with flowers and poetry and long, sweet kisses. 

These thoughts, disturbing in both the best and the worst of ways, would have remained mere daydreams had the ships not overwintered in the north. More specifically, they would have remained so had Edward not been sent out at the first sign of spring to find a way out of the ice, and come back snow blind. 

The experience was one of the worst of Edward's life. The pain was excruciating, but not insurmountable. The worry that his condition may be permanent was torturous, but nothing with which he could not cope. What really hurt was Edward's knowledge of his own stupidity. Dr. MacDonald was as kind as always, assuring Edward that nobody knew precisely why some men are susceptible to snow blindness, but it did not escape Edward's notice that, of all the men and officers in all the lead parties, it was only he who returned without his sight. 

He was wallowing in this self-pity when Jopson came in to his cabin one afternoon. He announced himself, which was fortunate, as Edward had been about to bark at “Gibson.” 

“I thought I might lend a hand, sir,” Jopson said. Edward could hear him drawing nearer. “Mr. Gibson was busy, and I have some experience with nursing.” 

Later, Edward learned the story of Jopson's unfortunate mother. At that moment, the comment went unremarked upon. 

Jopson removed Edward's dressings, murmuring noises of sympathy all the while. His fingers were gentle where Gibson's had always been brusque, and he stroked Edward's aching forehead in a manner that did not seem medically necessary.

It was that unexpected care that caused Edward to blurt, “I feel such a fool.” 

“Why is that, sir?”

For failing. For being such a poor excuse for a leader. For forcing his men to drag his useless body back on a sledge. 

For spending so much time indulging inappropriate fantasies about a man under his command. 

Jopson didn't wait for a reply. “You needn't fret. All is well. Lieutenant Gore's party found a break in the ice.” 

“Is that so?” Jopson wouldn't lie about such a thing. Still, Edward couldn't quite believe it. 

“The news just arrived. I wasn't meant to tell you yet. Please don't overexcite yourself.” He could hear the smile in Jopson's voice, and picture it in his mind. On rare occasions, Edward had been the cause of that smile. It inevitably made him feel like a hero, whether it was because he had complimented Mr. Diggle's meal, or helped Jopson carry a heavy pile of freshly laundered linens. He wished he could see it now. 

“Dear God. What a relief.” Cold comfort if Edward was to remain blind, but at least it was something.

“It is that.” Water sloshed in a bowl. Jopson placed a new damp compress over Edward's eyes. As he pulled away, Edward reached out, catching Jopson's wet hand in his own. 

“Thank you,” Edward said. The words seemed inadequate. 

“It's no trouble at all.” Jopson's voice was less steady than Edward would have expected. He didn't pull his hand away. Rather, he very slowly turned it in Edward's grasp, manoeuvring until his fingers were entwined with Edward's. “Sir.” 

“Edward.” He should not have said it, but he could not bring himself to regret it. _Blame the headache_ , he thought, as Jopson's hand squeezed his. 

“Edward,” Jopson repeated, a little gasp on the end of it. “You are very welcome. Very welcome indeed.” 

After that, things moved quickly. Within a day, Edward had regained some of his sight. Within a week, Jopson was in his arms in the orlop, kissing him with as much love and desire as Edward ever dared dream. And within a month, they were in open waters, sailing through the Passage, completing their mission and ensuring their legacy. 

Everybody embraced that day. Nobody said a word when Edward threw his arms about Jopson and held him in front of God and ship's company alike.

That openness was short-lived, but Edward has grown used to Jopson—Thomas, in fact, for he is _Jopson_ in public and _Thomas_ in private—sneaking into his cabin in the depth of night. Tonight, although Edward's humour remains poor, he shifts over when Thomas arrives, and allows him to squeeze onto the bunk.

“What's the matter?” Thomas asks, perceptive as always. When Edward doesn't reply, he plants a light kiss on the back of Edward's neck. “Darling? Are you vexed I mentioned Elisabeth at dinner?” 

“No.” The melancholy took root long before that conversation. And Mrs. Jopson's existence is a fact of life; Edward would never ask Thomas to lie about her. “In truth, I do not know what ails me.” 

Thomas' arms come tightly about Edward's middle. “We shall be in Maui soon,” he murmurs. The words are clearly meant to offer solace. Edward feels none. “I thought you and I might find a quiet little cove somewhere, and that you may help me improve my swimming.” Another kiss, this one behind Edward's ear. 

It sounds lovely, but not as lovely as the thought of having Thomas naked in a tropical paradise ought to sound. Edward cannot tell him that. He turns in Thomas' arms and lets Thomas kiss him a third time, on the mouth. 

He expects Thomas to move down the bed, to straddle Edward's hips, to put himself in some position to initiate intimacy. Instead, he stays where he is, his body pressed against Edward's and his head on Edward's shoulder. Scarcely a minute later, he is snoring softly. Edward remains awake, stock still so as not to disturb him, until the hour grows too late and he is forced, with great reluctance, to awaken Thomas and send him back to his own berth. 

***

Edward has sailed into many a warm weather port. Maui is much the same as Rio, Lisbon, Malta, although the shadow of the volcanoes is, Edward has to admit, quite arresting. 

As is usual, a bevy of locals await. As soon as the first round of Terrors and Erebites stream off the ships, enterprising villagers are upon them. Most of the men are selling trinkets; most of the women are selling themselves. In the crush, Edward loses sight of Jopson. It is only once Edward breaks free of the gradually dwindling crowd, once most of the women have ensnared at least one client and the men have sold as many coconut figures and fish-skeleton “mermaids” as they can, that Edward finds him again. 

_He is beautiful._ It's not the first time Edward has thought it, of course, but here in paradise, Thomas' beauty is only enhanced. He is dressed down to his shirtsleeves, and those are rolled up, exposing the dark hair of his forearms. He is newly shaven, all the better for Edward to see his dimples. He looks, in fact, so young and fresh-faced, the black cloud that has hung over Edward since they first spotted the islands lightens, if only slightly. 

“Come along, sir.” Thomas holds out a hand. It is somewhat bizarre for the two of them, with their disparate ranks, to go off together, but everybody seems too occupied with their own pleasure to pay any attention. If pressed, Edward could give an explanation: he is disinclined to engage the trollops, and Jopson is a married man. If Hodgson, Irving, perhaps Fairholme were ashore, Edward would naturally have spent his time with them, instead. 

Edward thanks God Hodgson, Irving and Fairholme are not yet ashore. 

Linking their arms, Thomas leads Edward along a sandy stretch of beach. 

“Do you know where we're going?” 

“Somewhere quiet,” is all Thomas says. 

They walk for quite some time, until they happen upon a little bay. A pair of large boulders channel the water onto the small sandy beach, which is overhung by palms. Thomas starts disrobing at once, folding each article of clothing and placing it in a neat pile on a flat, dry stone on the sand. 

There was a time, up in the frigid north, when Edward would have given anything for a glimpse of Thomas in the nude. Since they've been sailing in warmer waters, it's a sight Edward has encountered several times, but one that never fails to take his breath away. 

“Hurry up, Edward!” Thomas laughs. He pushes back his hair with one hand, a gesture which Edward found profoundly alluring even before he and Thomas began their illicit relations, and heads for the sea. Edward hesitates, but not for long. 

The water is as warm as a bath. Thomas wades out to where it is waist-deep, splashing Edward playfully when he joins him. He winds his arms about Edward's neck, pressing them together from chest to knee. Without thinking, Edward's hands go to Thomas' slim hips. He glances back over his shoulder, towards the beach. 

“Worry not, darling, we are quite alone,” Thomas assures him, and kisses him.

He tastes like sunlight and salt, like the drops of seawater on his lips and like himself. When he pulls away, grinning cheekily, Edward finds he can at last articulate the nebulous bad feeling that has been dogging him for days. 

“I cannot lose you,” he says, and slides his hands up Thomas' broad, wet back to his shoulders. 

Several months more of sailing lie ahead of them, but when they at last arrive in England, they will surely be greeted as conquering heroes. Sir John will receive a peerage. Captain Crozier will be knighted. Edward will doubtlessly find himself a commander with his pick of future commissions, and Thomas...And Thomas will return to his wife. 

It is the natural way of things. Dalliances between men are not meant to be permanent, or even long-lived. It is foolish of Edward to want more from Thomas, but want it he does, the way he wants to continue eating, or breathing, or living.

“Oh, Edward.” Thomas sighs. 

“I know,” Edward says. “I know.” Knowing, he finds, does nothing to ease the pain. 

When Thomas kisses him again, it's harder, more desperate. Edward meets the desperation easily, grasping Thomas' warm, sun-kissed skin as if, by physically holding on to him, he can stop what cannot be prevented. 

“Edward,” Thomas repeats, when he pulls away. He doesn't go far, resting his forehead against Edward's as the waves lap against them. “I cannot leave you.” The sweet earnestness with which he makes the declaration is so entirely Thomas, Edward can do nothing but hold him more tightly, until Thomas adds, “I want to stay with you. Here, perhaps.”

Edward loosens his hold. “You don't mean...” He can't possibly. Thomas is devoted to the Navy, and deeply attached to Crozier besides. The thought of him deserting is laughable. 

“No,” he replies, quickly. “But once we get home, there's nothing to say we must remain there. We could come back, or go somewhere else. The Bahamas. Australia. I don't care, just as long as it is warm, it is with you, and we don't need to spend every moment of every day worrying someone might catch us out.” 

Impossible. _Or is it?_ A little voice inside Edward dares ask, traitorous and hopeful.

Edward cannot discuss such things standing in the sea. He returns to the beach, Thomas with him, and sits, still nude, upon one of the warm rocks. “Thomas, you have responsibilities you cannot ignore.” Unyielding responsibilities. Divorce would mean ruin for Thomas' wife, if he could obtain one, which is far from likely. Even if he did, he would most probably be saddled with sole care of the child. Few judges would ever award that duty to a woman. 

“I know. But I have spent some time thinking of this.” Thomas reaches across, taking Edward's hand in both of his. “Men are often lost at sea, are they not? It is not uncommon for those who sail to fail to return home.”

“You would have your wife believe you dead?”

“No,” Thomas answers quickly. “I would have her friends and neighbours believe it.”

“We will receive a great deal of attention when we arrive back.”

“ _You_ will, darling. I hardly think anybody will be clamouring for my memoirs. And it's not like anyone I know will be waiting on the docks at Greenhithe.” Before Edward can dwell on those particular sad injustices, Thomas continues, “Elisabeth will find no shame in 'widowhood'. Indeed, it would set us both free. She would not be unprovided for. I have already given her the entirety of my advance pay for this journey, and I thought...” He flushes. “I thought you might perhaps be able to offer some discreet additional, ah, compensation.” 

“You are suggesting I purchase you from your wife?” Edward sounds more condemnatory than he feels. In truth, while the plan is more devious than Edward would have thought the sweet Thomas capable of devising, there is little he would not do, if it meant continuing their lives together. 

“I am suggesting I am willing to do whatever it takes to be with you, for good. But I will accept it if it cannot be.” His gaze is steady, his sea blue eyes fixed on Edward's. 

_Can it?_ Edward always thought to live his life in the Navy, to retire as a captain if not better, to marry some lady of good parentage and quiet disposition and move to the countryside to breed hunting spaniels and children. A conventional life for a man who, disregarding his one, rather peculiar, singularity, has always lived conventionally. This would be the opposite. Leaving the country with Thomas, even if they did it quietly, would be sure to incite gossip in Naval circles. Mrs. Jopson's acquaintances may never know of it, but Edward's own large family would be shocked. One or two of his dear sisters may never recover. 

On the other hand, he would have Thomas, and life is less rigid in the colonies. They would hardly be able to live as man and wife, but they would be under less scrutiny, have fewer constraints. With some reasonable discretion, he and Thomas could be free to have a home of their own. Moments earlier, Edward would have called that an unachievable dream. Now, he is less sure. 

“What of the captain?” Edward asks. 

“What of him?” 

“You are uncommonly fond of him, and he of you.” Not to mention Thomas is the only reason Crozier functions, some days. Edward is not a jealous man by nature, but he has to admit, he has suffered a few pangs of envy at the obvious attachment between the captain and Thomas. Even if it is not, as Thomas never ceases to remind him, the same sort attachment he shares with Edward. “Will it not pain you to be separated?” 

“It will,” Thomas answers, frank as always. “But he will understand.” Edward is not so certain. Admittedly, he does not know the captain the way Thomas does. “Considering the honours and promotion you are sure to receive upon our return, Edward, it may not be as easy for you to choose me over the Navy.” 

It is. Surprisingly so. The Navy is Edward's life, but Thomas is more than that. He is Edward's _soul._

This strength of emotion is not something he ever sought, but it cannot be denied. “I love you,” Edward says aloud. It is a shocking negligence he has not done so before. The words bring a light to Thomas' eyes, and he embraces Edward anew. 

The sensation of Thomas' bare body against his own sets every one of Edward's nerves alight. He takes Thomas into his arms, seeking his willing mouth once more. This time, the kiss is slow, savouring. Edward tastes Thomas thoroughly, and permits Thomas to do the same to him, twining their tongues together as their hands range freely. When Edward reaches between Thomas' legs, he finds him already firm and wanting.

Thomas whimpers. Edward glances around. Satisfied there is still no one in sight, he slides down Thomas, kissing his way along the expanse of warm skin until he reaches his destination. 

This is not an act Edward ever enjoyed with other men. When he undertook it, it was solely out of politeness and gentlemanly duty. When he is with Thomas, however, there is often nothing he wishes to do more. The sensation of Thomas' hands gripping his shoulders and his hair, the feeling—the taste—of Thomas' cock swelling in his mouth, brings Edward a joy he would not have expected to find anywhere, let alone in such an undignified position. When Thomas spends with Edward's name on his lips, Edward finds it is very nearly enough to set him off, as well.

Nearly. Thomas finishes the job when he pulls Edward to lie beneath him, pushing a leg between Edward's. Ignoring the grainy discomfort of the sand against his back, Edward permits himself to rut against Thomas' thigh, gasping with pleasure whilst Thomas rains kisses on his face, his throat, his shoulders. He pushes his hands into Edward's hair, which is growing overlong, and forces Edward to look up at him. 

“I love you,” Thomas says, a wildness in his eyes Edward has never seen before. He flicks his own damp hair from his forehead. “I love you,” Thomas repeats, and the words go like a bullet to Edward's heart. He climaxes breathlessly, spurting almost in time with the waves washing upon the shore. 

Moments later, Edward is lying dazed, his eyes still shut, when Thomas' warmth abruptly disappears. 

“Edward!” 

Panic seizes him. It's only once he's leapt up that Edward realizes they are still alone. “Look!” Thomas points at the sea. The enormous, dark shell of a leatherback sea turtle protrudes from the waves, so close to shore they might easily wade out and touch it, if they had a mind to. 

If Edward is honest, turtles are of little interest to him. What does appeal greatly is Thomas' grin, his laugh, and the look of innocent delight on his face. 

Thomas has lived through a great deal of strife, of many kinds. That he can still possess such joy, still be overflowing with it for something as mundane as a turtle, makes Edward's heart beat faster than any declaration of love. 

“Yes,” Edward says. He can think of nothing else to say. Then, for the purposes of clarity, he adds, “To all of it. Yes.” 

“What?” The shell dips beneath the water, and Thomas turns to look at Edward. “There's no need to rush, darling. We have several months still before any decisions need to be made. You should take your time. Weigh all the implications. I would never wish you to regret...”

“I said yes, Thomas.” Edward's certainty astonishes himself, as well, but saying the words lifts the last of his persistent misery, popping it like a bubble on the surface of the sea. 

Edward is normally a man of detail, of schedules and procedures and precise plans laid long in advance. For now, however, it is enough to know the possibility exists he need not be parted from Thomas. Details can come another day. Thomas is another man of rigid organization, but he, too, seems satisfied with this. Or so Edward assumes, as Thomas throws himself with unabashed glee into Edward's waiting arms. 

***

“Edward Little! Is that you, man?” Blanky is on deck when Edward returns to _Terror_ after his three days of leave, clearly awaiting his own turn to disembark. He slaps Edward on the back. “I've never seen you look so fucking all callao.”

Edward smiles. Thomas had left him an hour earlier, in the room they'd hired above a tavern. Two beds, of course. 

“It wouldn't do for us to go strolling back to the ship together,” Thomas said, pulling on his trousers for the first time in over a day. As much as Edward felt they should be out, enjoying the sun and sand of the Sandwich Islands, it had proven powerfully difficult to get out of a bed that had Tom Jopson in it. 

Thomas dressed, and Edward watched him. He drank down the last of their bottle of rum as he did so, although the sun was far from over the yardarm, and finished the few succulent morsels remaining from a juicy pineapple they'd bought in the tavern. It had been much more amusing to feed the pieces to Thomas, then lick the sticky juice from his lips, and other places.

“I shall see you in the wardroom this evening.” Thomas came over for a kiss, which became two, then three. It then became Edward pulling him back into bed, divesting him of his clothing again, and loving Thomas so thoroughly,Thomas had to spend an additional ten minutes putting his hair back into what he considered acceptable order. Despite Thomas' complaints, Edward could not bring himself to regret his actions. 

“Oh ho!” Blanky beams. “I was right about the girls, then, I see. Just remember, when next there's a watch that needs taking, those of us who were not fortunate enough to partake.” He winks.

 _Fortunate_ , Edward repeats to himself. He is certainly that. Incredibly, inexplicably fortunate. Undeservedly fortunate, perhaps, but he is not selfless enough to wonder whether he deserves Thomas. He only knows how much he wants him, and how happy it makes him to know they may have one another for a very long time indeed. 

“Enjoy yourself,” Edward tells Blanky. “The island is beautiful.” 

He leaves Blanky laughing, and wonders if there is any excuse he can make to sneak into the great cabin and see Thomas before dinner.


End file.
